


Champagne Illumination

by Geishaaa



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternative Universe - Cops & Strippers, Blow Jobs, Champagne, Kissing, M/M, Shameless Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geishaaa/pseuds/Geishaaa
Summary: “Say something,” Yoruichi hissed in Ichigo’s ear. “Don’t act like this is your first time.”Ichigo swallowed promptly, realising the Champagne was still sitting in his mouth.“Come here,” he said to the dancer, reaching an arm out and gesturing the man forward with a ‘come hither’ motion. Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing.The dancer glanced up him then and Ichigo’s breath hitched as they made eye contact.He had never seen teal eyes so bright. Hell, he’d never seen teal eyes at all.
Relationships: Hitsugaya Toushirou/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35
Collections: IchiHitsu Ship Week and Archive





	Champagne Illumination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reijin_Hakumei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reijin_Hakumei/gifts), [OfTheAshTree62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfTheAshTree62/gifts).
  * Inspired by [when you were a fever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028423) by [auconteur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auconteur/pseuds/auconteur). 



> Written for IchiHitsu Week – Day 5: Full Moon, representing illumination, clarity and completion.
> 
> This work was heavily inspired by ‘when you were a fever’ by auconteur on Ao3! It’s an OtaYuri piece for any Yuri on Ice fans here and it one of my all time favourite pieces! 11/10 recommend it! 
> 
> Also check out the works of my two gift recipients, Reijin_Hakumei and OfTheAshTree62 - they are legends and writing some helllllla good works right now!

* * *

  
It was nearly midnight when Ichigo Kurosaki stepped out onto the wet pavement of a notorious North London street, kicking the door of his recently acquired matte black Corvette shut with his heel, exerting only a small level of annoyance.

“So broody, Ichigo,” Urahara’s humoured hum was almost crystal clear in Ichigo’s earpiece. “Keep that up. Remember, you think you’re above every man in this club tonight.”

“In other words,” Yoruichi’s purr followed, “Big Dick Energy.”

Ichigo ignored them with but a slight grinding of his teeth. They were in an inconspicuous van further down the street, running surveillance as well as an unwarranted commentary track as Ichigo walked with a confident façade towards the club.

The club, ‘Las Noches’, was a high-end strip club – members only – and was currently the centre of the latest investigation of the National Crime Association (NCA for short – it was almost, but not quite, Britain’s version of the FBI). The club’s owner, infamous gang leader Sosuke Aizen, was the epicentre of a money laundering inquiry, and Ichigo’s job tonight was to gather evidence worthy of a conviction.

As a junior agent, this was one of Ichigo’s first undercover operations. He hadn’t been expecting to play the role either, after having made up the alias specifically to suit Urahara. He had made bank accounts, IDs, tax returns, even a passport – anything and everything to make the very much fabricated ‘Johnny Morita’ seem like a real person, and not just a real person but a shady hedge fund manager with an economic crime hobby. He was a sleaze and probably an asshole – a perfect role for Urahara to play, and yet it was Ichigo’s face on Johnny Morita’s new fake driver’s licence that was dropped on his desk that morning.

“I’ve busted some of Aizen’s so-called ‘business associates’ in the past,” Urahara smirked as he sat on Ichigo’s desk, uninvited. “Never dealt with him directly but I can’t risk being recognised. It’s time for your undercover debut, Ichi-baby.”

Ichigo didn’t love the nickname, but he didn’t argue it or the order to go undercover. In truth, he had been hoping to spread his wings more in the field, aiming for that promotion. He also looked to impress his father, a retired Interpol agent turned doctor, though Isshin promised he was proud no matter what Ichigo did.

After a thorough briefing, Ichigo squeezed into an all too tight designer suit, clipped on some diamond cufflinks, gelled back his hair and sprayed a healthy amount of a men’s Armani eau de parfum on his wrists. Yoruichi hit him with the finishing tech touches (an ear piece as well as a mic and wire taped to his chest) and a smack on the ass before handing over the keys to the Corvette. Every item was authentically criminal, having been seized from a number of past NCA jobs.

Ichigo found himself heading towards the Corvette feeling every bit as dirty as Johnny Morita was invented to be.

“Alright we’ve signed you up as a new member,” Urahara reminded Ichigo as he reached the club’s entrance. “You’ll be personally greeted by Aizen. Anything he offers to you, you say yes.”

Ichigo hummed quietly before stepping inside the club.

Having never stepped in a strip club in his life, even a cheap one, Ichigo wasn’t sure he really knew what he expected but it certainly wasn’t the marble floors or the grand chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He supposed the overall dim lighting was to be expected and perhaps even the private VIP booths with dark curtains surrounding them. _Oh, if those dark curtains could talk_. Ichigo could only imagine the stories of marital infidelity and illicit activities that they could share. He was, however, only interested in Aizen’s illicit actives that evening.

Ichigo was met by a hostess, a petite girl with dark brown hair and a face too innocent for the business in which she worked. Momo, her name was. Ichigo wondered if it was real, or more of stage name like he was sure many of the strippers in the club would have.

Momo checked his, or rather Johnny’s two documents of identification (license and passport), and finalised the last of his membership, handing him a members card that was black and easily unnoticeable in a man’s wallet. Afterwards, she led him through the main floor of the club to one of the private booths at the back.

As Ichigo walked through, his eyes swept the vicinity. The main floor was a huge room, with a large bar towards the back and a wide stage at the front. Between the bar and stage, round tables and leather chairs were scattered around. It was cosy, yet held the prestigious feel of luxury that only big money could buy. The music, somewhere between modern RnB and sultry pop, was loud enough to get lost in, yet not so loud one couldn’t hold a conversation.

The club was busy, Ichigo noticed first, and it was to no surprise that he found almost all the clientele to be male. The strippers, however, seemed to be fairly equal across genders as far as Ichigo could see. They were giving private lap dances in dark corners or at the booths, while on the stage a female dancer had the rest of the audience captivated. Ichigo couldn’t blame them – the woman was impossibly well-endowed, with long ginger hair, light blue eyes and dance moves that would put the make even the devil blush. Slowly her clothes came off, and slowly the audience leaned forward, mesmerised.

“That’s Ran,” Momo informed him as she led him across the room. “She only started with us a few months ago but she’s already one of the client favourites.”

That Ichigo believed without question.

They reached the booth that had been set up for him, and Momo closed the curtains around them for privacy.

“Mr Aizen will be with you shortly,” she smiled, pouring him a glass of Dom Perignon, the bottle of which was already waiting for him in a bucket of ice. “He’s finishing up an important business associate. I’ll send your dancer in; would you prefer a man or a woman?”

Ichigo wanted to choke on that, but he kept his cool. He remembered Urahara’s order to ‘say yes’.

Masking his surprise and heavy regret for becoming a NCA agent, Ichigo took a sip of the Dom, allowing the fizzing liquid to sit in his mouth for a moment, as if relishing in the taste of expensive Champagne. He sat on the red velvet bench seat, the glass flute dangling casually in his fingers.

“A man,” he answered, and for some reason his voice went deeper, as if trying to impress the girl.

Momo gave almost a half bow before leaving the booth.

“A dancer?” Ichigo hissed the moment she was gone, cool façade broken for a moment.

“Intel says Aizen greets all his new members with his finest drink and his finest dancer,” Urahara supplied, voice low but entertained. “Remember, you’re a man who enjoys the finer things in life.”

Ichigo wasn’t sure that a lap dance could really be considered one of the ‘finer things in life’, but he supposed in the dark circles of organised crime and money laundering, it probably was.

And so Ichigo played to the role. He’d probably never get to drink Dom again and hey, he’d need it to get through the forthcoming lap dance… Also for the conversation he was about to have with a dangerous mob boss.

He had poured his third glass by the time the dancer entered the booth.

The dancer was of course gorgeous. Young, short, petite – hair so vibrantly white Ichigo couldn’t tell if it was bleached or not. He wore black leather short shorts, a white mesh crop top, and a set of fierce black heeled boots. He would be, without a doubt, the new star of Ichigo’s wet dreams. He entered the booth, hand on hip, expression somewhere between lustful and annoyed. A general air of moodiness was heightened by the sharp eyeliner and the slight shimmering on his lips – _beautiful and dangerous._

“Hello Gorgeous,” the dancer drawled, his tone only just suggesting he hated saying the line.

Ichigo stared, because how could he not? He also found himself inspecting the dancer more closely as he pulled a small remote off the side table and pressed a few buttons. Immediately, the lights dimmed completely and only rotating coloured spotlights illuminated the dancer.

“Say something,” Yoruichi hissed in Ichigo’s ear. “Don’t act like this is your first time.”

Ichigo swallowed promptly, realising the Champagne was still sitting in his mouth.

“Come here,” he said to the dancer, reaching an arm out and gesturing the man forward with a ‘come hither’ motion. Honestly, he had no idea what he was doing.

The dancer glanced up him then and Ichigo’s breath hitched as they made eye contact.

He had never seen teal eyes so bright. Hell, he’d never seen teal eyes at all.

The dancer’s eyes widened just a fraction looking at Ichigo, and Ichigo only noticed that because he had years of training in reading micro expressions. Well that and Ichigo was bewitched by the teal and hadn’t looked at anything else since.

The moment was all too brief though, as the dancer quickly hit the music and swayed into action.

Ichigo watched, transfixed, as the dancer moved to the slow, deep beat, most of his movements in his sharp hips. He was good, Ichigo realised, and he almost missed Urahara chuckling in his earpiece and whispering ‘Nice one!’

The dancer stepped forward with the beat, slowly making his way toward where Ichigo had leaned back on the cushioned bench, doing his best to look casual – perhaps even bored.

Just as Ichigo was memorised first by the dancer’s eyes, and then his hips, Ichigo just as quickly found his attention drawn to the man’s hands as they dragged and raked over his own body. Mouth drying, Ichigo found himself leaning shamelessly forward, wanting nothing more than to be those hands on that body.

The dancer must have known that because he smirked, pressing his palms against his hips, fingers faced downwards as he pushed over the line of his hipbone and down the sharp lines of the V-muscle disappearing under the leather booty shorts. Ichigo’s eyes followed the hands closely as they dipped under the waist band a fraction and those hips swung around until Ichigo was presented with one very tight ass. The dancer smirked over his shoulder, no doubt at Ichigo’s dumbass expression, as he then bent over, folding himself in half and shaking that incredible masterpiece in front of Ichigo’s eyes.

Just as Ichigo was almost certain he wasn’t going to be able to string two words together when Aizen eventually did greet him, the dancer’s ass sat itself promptly on Ichigo’s lap, wiping all thoughts from the young agent’s mind. His pants tightened uncomfortably.

Ichigo was then presented with the bumps of the dancer’s spine as he leaned over, his legs spread wide over Ichigo’s and his hands on the agent’s knees, stabilising himself. It was with great restraint that Ichigo didn’t reach out to touch the bumps.

The dancer apparently did not care for his restraint as he straightened back up, his hand reaching behind him and holding onto the back of Ichigo’s neck. He turned his head, shooting Ichigo a smirk as he dragged those fingers across his throat. His fingers were cold but Ichigo found himself leaning into them.

He had no idea what part of the song they were on but the dancer must have been ramping up to the end as he stood quickly and turned around before climbing back into Ichigo’s lap, facing him now and straddling his hips. Those notorious hands started on Ichigo’s shoulders before sliding sensually down his biceps and eventually resting on his forearms.

The dancer leaned all the way back and Ichigo almost went to reach for him, scared for a moment that he would fall backwards off him, but the dancer didn’t, rolling his body back up with ease.

Ichigo couldn’t breathe as the dancer sat in his lap and hovered closer, his shimmering lips closer than ever before. Ichigo wasn’t clued up on strip club etiquette but he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to grope the dancers – but _oh good lord_ how he wanted to with this one.

“You can touch me if you like,” the dancer drawled then, perhaps reading Ichigo’s mind, and he even plucked the Champagne flute from Ichigo’s loose fingers to free up his hands.

“Oh Ichi-baby,” Urahara’s voice was too cheeky in his ear. “Just say ‘yes’, remember?”

Ichigo had to pretend he didn’t hear that but it was easy to with the dancer’s hips now rolling gently against him. His hands found the dancer’s thighs before they travelled upwards. His skin was smooth, aside from some small goosebumps from the cold. Was he really that cold? Ichigo was borderline sweating from the incredible heat he was feeling.

His fingers reached the leather of the dancer’s shorts but they continued upwards as the dancer saw fit to finish the last of Ichigo’s Dom for him before he tossed the glass to the velvet cushions and rolled his hips again.

Ichigo caught his hips but did nothing to slow his actions. All he knew right now was that this was providing an incredible sensation in his designer trousers.

The dancer moved forward again and Ichigo had a sobering moment of sudden realisation when he remembered the microphone and wire taped to his chest under the shirt, which the dancer would surely feel if he got any closer. Quickly – perhaps too quickly – Ichigo slipped his hand between their chests and pushed back on the dancer. He seemed startled, and Ichigo realised he’d either never done this before, or – more likely – he’d never been stopped before.

“What’s your name?” Ichigo asked, voice gravelly. It was a moment of recovery, as he focused his gaze on the stunning teal eyes that were narrowing on him.

After a brief pause, the dancer pushed away his hesitation, and slipped back to the more annoyed expression he had when he first walked in.

“Shira,” he answered with a drawl, his voice illegally sultry.

 _Shira._ Now Ichigo knew that was a stage name, but it was one that suited the dancer to a tee.

“Why do you work here?”

He had to ask.

“I have daddy issues,” Shira quipped quickly. “I’m putting myself through college. I like it when middle aged men leer at me.”

Ichigo pursed his lips together as he realised Shira was teasing him.

“Is that so?”

“Maybe I’m just really good at it,” Shira smirked again. “Maybe I just love to dance sexily and get paid incredibly for it.”

The pay couldn’t be that good, Ichigo thought, even at a place like this. Though Shira probably did quite well in tips.

Ichigo’s hands returned to Shira’s hips and he pushed them back down on his crotch again, hoping to get the man to finish his dance. Shira complied, though his dance became largely grinding back and forth with Ichigo’s hips as they began to jut with unrestrained horniness. There was still a level of rhythm to their movements, and Ichigo kept enough distance between Shira and his wire as they moved together. Shira seemed to have less interest in getting close to him, however, as he guided Ichigo’s hands higher on his hips and up to his waist, until Ichigo got the less-than-subtle clue that he wanted to be touched. The agent let his hands roam freely then, sliding beneath that mesh crop top and feeling each rivet in his ribs, and the muscles tensing under the sultry beat of the music. His bare skin under Ichigo’s palms was electric.

It wasn’t long after that the song ended, and Ichigo was well past the borderline of starting to sweat.

Teal eyes were clouded when they returned to Ichigo and without the music, Ichigo could hear the dancer’s low panting. It was only just louder than the blood pounding in his own ears.

For a moment they were both still, and then-

“Fuck it.”

Ichigo didn’t know if it was him or Shira that said it but it was the last thing he heard before their lips were crushed together. It was messy, but _oh so hot_ as Ichigo groaned softly, his lips opening enough to let Shira’s tongue swipe inside and wipe all conscious thought from his mind. Electricity sparked between them as Shira gasped and Ichigo bit his lip, realising a moment later his hands had moved to the dancer’s ass.

It was as tight as it looked, but unfortunately his grabbing of Shira’s cheeks seemed to jolt the dancer back into awareness.

He pulled back from Ichigo quickly, his eyes blown wide with shock and lust. A brief beat of silence passed over them before Shira moved again, this time slipping off Ichigo and moving with speed towards the exit.

“Okay uh,” Shira swallowed, his hand pushing a white lock of hair off his face. “Enjoy your night. Bye.”

Ichigo was left staring after the dancer as he slipped back through the curtains.

“My, my,” Urahara sighed happily in Ichigo’s ear. “Now _that_ was a show.”

* * *

Somehow Ichigo had made his way smoothly through a conversation with the club’s owner, Aizen, when he dropped in on the agent shortly after Shira’s abrupt departure. The recordings Urahara and Yoruichi had from his mic certainly implied money laundering interest on Aizen’s end, however it was apparently not enough to warrant the arrest or conviction that the NCA was after.

“We’ll need him to take the money from you,” Urahara informed Ichigo when he turned up at headquarters the next day. “That means ‘Johnny Morita’ will be paying Las Noches another visit.”

Ichigo nodded, expression grim but resigned, though he was secretly excited about the prospect of seeing Shira again. Unfortunately Urahara and Yoruichi were even better at reading micro expressions than him, and they quickly had wide grins on their faces.

“I’m sure that won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you, eh Ichigo?” Yoruichi purred.

Ichigo shot her a look.

“I know you’re my superior,” Ichigo said tonelessly, “but you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I bet you’d like to be a pain in Shira’s ass.”

That was the start of a horrific day of innuendos and jibes.

Fortunately, it seemed Ichigo had done enough last night to gain Aizen’s attention and he called Johnny’s phone to arrange another meeting for that night. Apparently, he had a business partner that also had an interest in a potential money exchange.

“Who?” Urahara asked when Ichigo gave him the update.

Until now, Intel believed Aizen to work alone on the money laundering front. Any ‘business associates’ they knew of they assumed to be clients like Johnny was invented to be.

“Wouldn’t say,” Ichigo shrugged, “but he said they would meet me tonight too. I thought it best not to push for more details.”

“Yes, good. We don’t want him getting suspicious. I’ll get Tessai to do some research – we might be able to take down more of his syndicate.”

By dinner time, Tessai had an update of some potential candidates for Aizen’s mystery ‘business partner’. They sat in the briefing room, watching a television screen as Tessai brought up images of Aizen’s known associates.

“Kaname Tosen,” Tessai brought up a mug shot of a man with purple braids and clouded irises. “Arrested three years ago for fraud activity but got off on a technicality.”

“One of mine,” Urahara sighed. “A lower agent messed around with the evidence and it got discounted from the trial.”

Ichigo grimaced.

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and Ulquiorra Cifer,” Tessai continued, bring up a photograph of two very eccentric looking men, the image obviously captured from a surveillance van. “Thugs, Aizen’s henchmen.”

“Unlikely to be money launders then,” Urahara murmured. “They’re more brawn than brains, I suspect.”

Ichigo eyed the pictures closely. Something about them told Ichigo they had more going on upstairs than Urahara gave them credit for.

“Lastly, this man,” Tessai brought up a new image, of a man with a silver hair and a grin so wide it made his eyes squint to the point they almost looked shut. “We don’t have a name or any details about him, just that he had been spotted going in and out of the club alongside Aizen every night since we began surveillance.”

Ichigo took a mental note of the face. He hadn’t recalled seeing that man the previous night but he’d been distracted by the woman on stage on his way in and the man that was in his lap earlier on his way out. It was the latter distraction had followed Ichigo into bed that night.

If Urahara or Yoruichi happened to ask, Ichigo _had not_ jerked off to the thought of a stripper he met on duty.

That concluded the briefing from Tessai and soon enough Yoruichi was handing Ichigo a different, possibly even tighter designer suit to change into. He did, and though he managed to squeeze himself into it, breathing became difficult. The criminal that had owned this suit prior to its confiscation was obviously a stick insect.

“Hm,” Yoruichi made a sound when Ichigo came out of the bathroom. “Maybe I’ll get Uryu to let it out a little. Have you gained weight?”

Ichigo’s face went bright red as he stuttered out a response. In truth he had gained weight, but it was muscle! He was training hard and bulking up to make him look less like a twig and more like a badass NCA agent.

Yoruichi laughed at his explanation, but thankfully she didn’t call for Uryu to come let out the suit. She taped the mic and wire to his chest and gave him the earpiece to pop in his ear again. Cufflinks, eau de parfum and the keys to the matte black Corvette, and Ichigo was back on his way to Las Noches.

* * *

The second time Ichigo walked into Las Noches was very similar to the first.

Once again it was almost midnight, one again the dark North London streets were wet from recent rain. The moon overhead was full, or nearly so, and it illuminated the club.

Momo was there to greet him when he walked in again.

“Mr Morita,” she smiled. “Welcome back.”

Ichigo decided Johnny wasn’t much of a smiler or a talker, and instead gave her a non-committal grunt of acknowledgement. He’d never do that to a woman in real life, but Johnny was asshole so tonight so was Ichigo.

Momo led him back towards the same booth, and Ichigo’s eyes swept the main floor as they crossed it.

He spotted Shira first, because his white hair was a natural beacon. Tonight he wore an emerald green corset and he was dancing over another man’s lap. That tugged straight at Ichigo’s jealously cord. Still, Ichigo settled himself seeing that Shira seemed largely bored by what he was doing with his current client. He certainly wasn’t making out with him like he had done with Ichigo.

The popular female dancer (‘Ran’, wasn’t it?) was in another man’s lap, and Ichigo only took an interest because the man she was dancing for was the unknown silver haired man from Tessai’s briefing. So far Ichigo knew nothing more about the man other than he seemed to have a real eye for Ran, as even from this distance Ichigo could see the chemistry they appeared to share. Still, it told him nothing about his business, if any, with Aizen.

Many other clients, dancers and wait staff littered the club floor that night, none (other than those previously mentioned) were of interest to Ichigo, until he spotted the apparent henchmen, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, standing outside one of the booths closed by curtains. If Ichigo was a betting man, he’d have put money on Aizen being inside that booth, undoubted concluding illegal business. Probably, Ichigo would guess, _money laundering._

Once again, a bottle of Dom Perignon awaited Ichigo in the booth. Momo closed the curtains over before pouring him a glass.

“Another dance, Mr Morita?” she asked, handing him his glass.

Ichigo accepted it while mulling over his answer. As much as he wanted to see Shira again (and get him off the lap of another man), he knew it was dangerous to his operation.

“Say yes,” Urahara’s voice in his ear reminded him. “Stay true to your character. You love strippers and Dom.”

“Another dancer even?” Momo offered, perhaps sensing Ichigo’s hesitation.

Ichigo shook his head quickly then. “No, the same one.”

Momo smiled and nodded, before she ducked from the room.

Ichigo hadn’t even finished his first glass of Champagne when Shira stormed into the booth, looking far more angry and frustrated tonight.

“Back again,” Shira stated, voice almost toneless if not for the clear annoyance in it. It wasn’t a question but Ichigo answered it anyway.

“So it seems.”

“You asked for me?”

“I did,” Ichigo confirmed, and before he could stop himself he continued. “You look beautiful tonight.”

He did, as he did the previous night too. The emerald suited him surprisingly well. His booty shorts and the corset top matched, and they shimmered under the lights. Ichigo wanted to feel them, to see how they compared with the leather and mesh of the last outfit. He wanted to feel more than that, to be honest. He hoped Shira would let him touch his chest again.

“Christ, he’s falling in love with a stripper,” Urahara’s deep chuckle went ignored by Ichigo and thankfully unheard by Shira.

Shira seemed altogether unimpressed by Ichigo’s words but he started the music anyway. He danced for a little while, making his way across the booth towards Ichigo, but things moved a lot faster this time. By the first chorus, Shira was in his lap. By the second verse, they were lip-locked.

Once again the kiss was like fire to Ichigo who melted instantly. He didn’t wait for permission to touch Shira this time, his hands moving urgently over the dancer’s back and across the back of the corset. It was a lot tighter than last night’s shirt but Ichigo’s fingers managed to work their way under, and he found Shira’s back to be just as toned and tight as his front.

Shira groaned lowly with desire as Ichigo touched him, and louder again when Ichigo bit his skin and sucked, leaving a dark love bite where his neck met his shoulder. That was message to any other men requesting Shira for a lap dance that night.

The song continued and so too did their make out session, Ichigo only keeping his mind conscious enough to keep Shira away from his own chest, lest he wanted to endanger this whole operation because the stripper he was kissing felt his wire beneath his shirt.

Shira didn’t seem to mind, at least not when Ichigo slipped his arm up as a buffer between them and gently massaged the hardening bulge in his booty shorts.

When the song ended, Shira grasped Ichigo’s hair and yanked his head back, breaking the kiss. Ichigo hissed, surprising himself with how much he enjoyed the rough treatment.

“Do not ask for me again,” Shira growled in his ear, his voice surprisingly commanding and authoritative.

In a flash, Shira swung himself off Ichigo and disappeared back through the curtains, leaving Ichigo dazed, confused and horny as Hell.

Fifteen minutes later, and before Ichigo could gather his own thoughts, Aizen joined him in the booth, bringing his laundering partner, _Kaname Tosen._

Urahara was delighted to hear that, whispering in Ichigo’s ear that it was lucky he hadn’t been Johnny Morita in that case. Tosen would have recognised him in an instant.

Once again, Ichigo barely remembered talking to Aizen at all, let alone arranging for him to take the NCA-approved half a million pounds from him to launder in a secure account, for his usual ten percent cut. Tosen apparently was the technical man with the fake accounts and despite being physically blind, had a good eye for illicit deals like this one.

“We’ll make the transfer tomorrow,” Aizen purred, seemingly pleased with his new deal. “Come by at the same time, we’ll make it official.”

They shook on it, before Aizen and Tosen left to ‘enjoy their evening with a dance’.

“Well done, Ichigo,” Yoruichi commended him in his ear. “Finish your Champagne and leave. We’ll meet you at Headquarters.”

Ichigo sighed and reached for the half empty glass of Dom and tipped it back quickly. Thankfully Aizen and Tosen had had a glass each too during their meeting, helping Ichigo to finish the bottle. Ichigo adjusted his suit before slipping out of the booth.

He spotted Tosen talking to the silver haired man in chairs by the stage as they watched (well… Tosen could only listen, Ichigo assumed) as Ran danced on the stage above them. Ichigo then eyed Aizen slipping in through closed curtains three booths down, his arm encircling Shira’s waist as he pulled the petite dancer in after him.

Ichigo swallowed and turned away, leaving the club.

Despite what he just saw, Ichigo was determined to pretend that Shira only danced for him. He planned on taking that thought as well as the memory of Shira’s deep growl in his ear into the shower with him that night.

* * *

Urahara was sitting on Ichigo’s desk when he arrived into work the next morning with a cheeky grin on his face, and Yoruichi was sitting in his chair. Both of them looked far too chipper for first thing in the morning.

“I have a gift for you,” Urahara announced happily as Ichigo dropped his bag down and shrugged off his coat. He presented him with a watch, and not just any watch but an IWC watch, which meant it was clearly another confiscated good.

“Okay,” Ichigo shrugged, taking the watch. “What’s the deal with it?”

“It has a mic in it,” Urahara explained. “Aizen and Tosen will likely scan you for bugs tonight before making the transfer. They won’t be able to pick up the mic in the watch as long as you turn it off before the scan you.”

He showed Ichigo how he could turn off the mic and turn it back on again by pressing the crown on the side.

“Just remember to turn it back on after the scan,” Yoruichi drawled, voice terribly cheeky. “You can also turn it off earlier if you want.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at her wicked grin.

“Such as while you’re falling in love with your stripper boy,” Urahara supplied when Yoruichi didn’t. “The NCA does not need a recording of that.”

Orihime, another junior agent that sat opposite Ichigo, gasped in delight and clapped her hands in excitement, no doubt only paying attention to the ‘falling in love’ part of the sentence. Ichigo shot her a look, and quickly Orihime’s smile dropped and she turned back to her desktop, pretending not to listen anymore.

“I’m not falling in love with Shira,” Ichigo sighed then, turning back to his own desk and shooing Yoruichi out of his chair. He replaced her, wincing at the warmth she left behind.

“Oh, of course not. It’s not you, it’s just your undercover character,” Yoruichi rolled her eyes. “We’ve heard that line before, Ichigo. Hell, we’ve said that line before.”

Ichigo sent her a withering glare. He was going to be glad when this operation was over. He didn’t need a stripper messing with his head nor his superiors teasing him for it.

* * *

The third night as Las Noches was much the same, at least on the surface. This time the moon was completely full in the sky above, beaming brightly down on the notorious street. It hadn’t rained today, but Ichigo could smell it in the air. It almost felt like something big was going to go down tonight, and it was.

The NCA was slowly creeping in on the club, surrounding it and preparing to storm tonight, provided Aizen and Tosen’s laundering deal went ahead.

Once again, the club was busy. Tonight a different dancer was on a stage, a woman with teal coloured hair and a green shirt cropped so high Ichigo could almost see the underside of her breasts. Ichigo scanned the room, but he couldn’t see Shira, nor could he see Aizen, Tosen or the silver haired man. Not even Ran was on the floor that night, as far as Ichigo could see.

Momo led him to the same VIP booth, another bottle of Dom open and waiting for him. As always, she poured him a glass and promised him Aizen would be with him shortly, that he was finishing up with some important business associates.

It was not the first time Ichigo had been fed that exact line.

Communication was a one way street tonight with the watch mic replacing the ear piece and wire. Urahara and Yoruichi could hear him but they couldn’t talk back to him.

Ichigo took a deep breath and sipped his glass of Champagne. He had barely started when Shira once again burst into the booth. Tonight, Shira wore another black and white combination, with the leather shorts from the first night and a cropped open white denim vest jacket. It made his bare arms look strong and hung over his pectorals, but Ichigo could see his entire sternum.

“Take off your pants,” Shira ordered swiftly.

Ichigo had never hit anything as fast as he hit the crown on the watch to silence the mic, yet he still knew that last line had reached Urahara and Yoruichi and therefore he’d be hearing about it for the rest of his career.

Oh good lord, his father was going to hear about this wasn’t he?

“I didn’t ask for you,” Ichigo pointed out quickly.

“I know,” Shira stated, neither his facial expression nor voice giving away how he felt about that. He picked up the remote quickly and pressed a button, prompting the music to start. “Now take off your pants. I’m going to make you come before the song ends.”

Ichigo choked as Shira moved quickly, striding towards Ichigo and climbing back into his lap. Lips latched onto Ichigo’s neck and he groaned softly, his arm wrapping around Shira’s waist automatically.

His head was foggy but he knew he needed to pull back. He couldn’t do this tonight, not with one of Aizen’s strippers. He shouldn’t be doing it with any stripper.

“I have a meeting with your boss tonight,” Ichigo managed, gasping slightly as Shira bite his flesh at his neck slightly, returning last night’s love bite.

“He’s going to miss it,” Shira murmured, switching to the otherside of Ichigo’s neck, his hands between them now and unbuttoning Ichigo’s shirt. His almost cold hands were both a relief and a danger as they travelled across Ichigo’s bare chest. Thank goodness they’d changed to the watch mic for tonight. “And he’s not my boss. Holy shit, you’re ripped.”

Ichigo didn’t get a chance to follow up on that as Shira slipped off him, slid his hands under Ichigo’s knees and pulled the man roughly forward to the edge of the couch. Ichigo had to give him credit; he was stronger than he looks.

“Say yes,” Shira ordered as he kneeled on the floor between Ichigo’s legs, his voice more vulnerable than Ichigo had ever heard it.

Ichigo’s chuckle came out as nothing but a short exhale. If only Shira knew what Urahara’s primary instruction had been when he first went undercover.

“Yes,” Ichigo answered, biting his lip as he fought back a smile. He reached out to cup Shira’s cheek, and ran his thumb over his bottom lip gently.

Christ, he _was_ falling in love with a stripper.

Shira grinned a genuine smile then and Ichigo’s heart thudded to a stop in his chest. This smile wasn’t a smirk, or a show smile or even a lust-filled leer – it was sincere, it was real.

The moment was brief, however, as the cheeky smirk returned and Shira reached up for the button and fly of Ichigo’s too-tight trousers. Ichigo helped him get the pants off and down past his knees.

Shira hands touched Ichigo’s cock as the agent hissed, realising how much he had wanted this. Shira handled him carefully, licking his lips slightly before he finally leaned over and took Ichigo’s length into his mouth.

In short, Shira could suck cock as good as he could dance. Better, maybe.

Ichigo swore under his breath as Shira’s tongue explored every inch of his shaft. His hand slipped into the softer than expected white locks and encouraged the dancer further. What Shira couldn’t reach with his mouth, he was using his hands to feel, stroke and massage, driving Ichigo towards ecstasy. All he could was curse, hiss and moan. There was no doubt that Shira was going to make him come by the end of the song.

As it turned out, Ichigo only made it as far as the end of the second chorus. Shira was well practiced and enthusiastic, not to mention brave as he deep throated Ichigo and swallowed around him. Ichigo couldn’t help but thrust desperately into Shira’s mouth towards the end, and eventually came down that throat. The orgasm hit him so hard Ichigo almost thought he heard fireworks, and Shira swallowed every drop of it.

He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking entirely satisfied with himself. Ichigo was dazed, but not so dazed that he had forgotten how much he wanted to touch Shira too. Reaching forward, Ichigo grabbed Shira by his sleeveless jacket and pulled up into his lap.

In no time at all, he had Shira’s cock freed from the confines of his tight leather shorts and was stroking it to the final beats of the song. Their lips were crushed together again, moving furiously, as Shira gasped and moaned into Ichigo’s throat. Eventually he too came, with a sharp gasp followed by a low groan, his seed spurting out over the both of them and making a mess.

They were both a sweating, panting mess by the time they were done, and as the song finally trailed off.

“Fuck,” Shira chuckled as Ichigo pulled him closer, navigating his head to his shoulder. He swallowed and nodded his agreement, unable to say much else.

He had no idea what this meant now. After tonight he was probably never going to see this man again. He didn’t know how Shira would feel about him really being an NCA agent, or how Ichigo felt about dating a man who was going to be in a strip club every night, dancing for someone else.

Shira seemed to be having similar thoughts as he pulled back from Ichigo for a moment, his smile barely hiding a sense of sadness.

“I should go,” he murmured, tucking himself back into his shorts.

Ichigo nodded, but he couldn’t let the man go without one last kiss. He reached forward, capturing Shira with a hand on either side of his face as he pulled the dancer back in for another deep kiss. This one was slower, yet more sensual and this time Ichigo was certain he heard fireworks.

Not fireworks- _gunshots._

Shira reacted quicker, pushing Ichigo away from him suddenly, expression alarmed.

“Stay here!” he ordered, voice commanding as he slipped off Ichigo’s lap and ran from the room.

Ichigo blinked, hesitating a fraction too long for an NCA agent, before he jumped up. Pulling his pants up, Ichigo quickly ran through the curtains and onto the main floor of the club.

It was chaos; clients and dancers were running for the front door while bodies in dark tactical suits stormed through the club. Ichigo spotted two of them tackling Aizen to the floor and while the silver haired man had Grimmjow pinned against the wall, and his favourite dancer, Ran, was cuffing Ulquiorra.

A moment later, Ichigo’s crew burst in through the front doors led by Urahara and Yoruichi. They were in almost identical tactical gear.

“Ichigo!” Yoruichi appeared at his side, handing him his own gun and NCA jacket which Ichigo shrugged on without evening thinking about it. “What happened? Your mic never came back on and we heard gunshots.”

Ichigo stared, realising he didn’t know what had happened, when he spotted Shira across the floor, handing off a handcuffed Tosen to one of the other dark suits, who in return handed him a badge and gun and a jacket that had ‘INTERPOL’ written across it.

Shira shrugged on the jacket as he glanced across the room, doing a double take when he spotted Ichigo staring dumbly back at him. Their eyes locked for a moment, before they strayed to the words printed across each other’s jackets, ‘NCA’ and ‘INTERPOL’. They glanced back at each other, Shira looking as surprised as Ichigo felt.

* * *

Apparently Aizen was not only a notorious gang leader, a luxury strip club owner and a money launder, but also a _human trafficker._

It was the latter that Interpol had been investigating, while the NCA had been chasing him for money laundering, and despite normally good communication between the two agencies, neither one had known about the other’s investigation. It was a nightmare, for jurisdictional purposes.

Honestly the whole thing was a mess, and it would take days to clean it up. Interpol had their evidence, so at the very least Aizen and his crew would go down for human trafficking, if not money laundering. Still, their whole operation had been jeopardised.

The Interpol boss, Yamamoto, tore Urahara to shreds over it in a debriefing that lasted hours. They sat in the conference room at NCA headquarters as grown men screamed at each other. Ichigo had to explain his undercover investigation six times over as different agents and department heads from both sides came and went. He also had to hear Interpol’s explanation six times, in which he learned that they had three uncover agents stationed at the club for twelve weeks in order to bring down the whole human trafficking syndicate.

The agents, Ichigo found out, were none other than Agent Gin Ichimaru, Agent Rangiku Matsumoto and Agent _Toshiro_ Hitsugaya.

They sat together in the briefing room too, staying silent until called upon, and like Ichigo they hadn’t been allowed to change out of their undercover ‘costumes’. If anyone noticed the white smudges on Ichigo and Toshiro’s shirts and pants, then they didn’t say anything. If they could smell the sex on them, then that too went unmentioned.

Teal eyes, still rimmed with smokey eye shadow, pierced Ichigo from across the room, unreadable. Ichigo wondered if he too was constantly replaying their deviant moments in his head.

It was on hour six that finally Ichigo was excused by Urahara, following Yamamoto’s bark that his three agents were to go home and rest.

In silence, the four of them filed out of the room and down to the lobby, where Ichigo quickly grabbed Toshiro’s arm and pulled him back.

“Hey,” Ichigo whispered. Ahead of them Gin and Rangiku walked on, either oblivious or allowing them some space, and Ichigo was betting on the latter.

“Hey yourself,” Toshiro returned, stopping and turning to face him. “Your name isn’t Johnny.”

“And yours isn’t Shira,” Ichigo felt his mouth twitch with a small smirk. He had always known it was a fake name, but it nice to discover the man behind the alias.

“And you’re not a dirty criminal,” Toshiro continued, his voice drawling just enough to imply _something._

“And you’re not a dir- a dancer,” Ichigo stumbled on his words as Toshiro suddenly threw him a sharp look, pre-empting the words ‘dirty stripper’ coming from his mouth. It wasn’t that he thought strippers were dirty, but any that worked for Aizen had to be.

Toshiro sighed. “At least I know why you wouldn’t let me touch your chest now. Wire, right?”

Ichigo nodded slowly, his mind whirring with thoughts.

“Was kissing me a part of your cover?” he asked. He didn’t think that could have been part of it, but some doubt lingered in his mind.

“No,” Toshiro answered quickly. “Was letting me blow you a part of yours?”

“No.”

A moment of silence washed over them, though Yamamoto’s booming voice could still be heard two floors down.

It was strange how emotionally invested Ichigo felt now that he had clarity on who his mysterious dancer really was. Now that he was seeing clearly, he felt like he had been living a dazed dream for the last few nights, a smokey haze dulling the brightness of a full moon.

“Why did you kiss me then?” Ichigo asked. Even their first kiss was but a blur to him now, but he was fairly certain Toshiro had been the one to initiate it.

“You’re hot,” Toshiro sighed, giving the compliment like it wasn’t one.

“And then you told me not to ask for you again?”

“Yeah well,” Toshiro huffed, annoyed. “You’re _really_ hot. How am I supposed to get my job done with you around looking all-” He gestured wildly to Ichigo as a whole. “-And sounding all-” He gestured again, and huffed once more to get his point across.

Ichigo tilted his head, unable to stop the smirk. They were angry and aggressive compliments, but compliments nonetheless, and he figured he should return some.

“You can talk,” he teased. “You come in looking like that-” He gestured to Toshiro as a whole. “-With eyes like those-” He pointed an accusing finger at him. “-And dancing like this-” He popped his hip out which only caused Toshiro to snort.

If one thing was clear tonight, it was that they were much better at flirting undercover.

They shared another small smile, and another beat of silence as Urahara’s muffled voice shouted now.

Despite still having his stripper outfit on and the sharp makeup, Toshiro no longer looked like one of Aizen’s dancers. The Interpol jacket swamped his frame and his eyes seemed much softer. His gentle smile was genuine and Ichigo found himself falling head first for it.

“Can I take you out for dinner?” Ichigo found himself asking.

Toshiro pursed his lips together in amusement before he glanced out the windows and frowned a little. It was bright outside with the first light of dawn.

“How about breakfast?” he countered.

“I’m not sure anything is open yet,” Ichigo frowned. “It’s just gone six.”

Toshiro hummed, like he had suspected this would be a problem. “Breakfast in bed then?”

Ichigo tilted his chin up, smirking as he realised where this had suddenly gone.

He reached for Toshiro and brought the lithe body into his arms. He lowered his lips to the man’s ear.

“Only if I can eat you instead?”

Toshiro made an approving, slightly strangled hum before gripping Ichigo by his hair and forcing their lips together quickly. Ichigo grinned into the kiss. _Gods it was good._

He pulled Toshiro along as he walked them back to the lift. Ichigo still had the keys to the Corvette and one more night of use sounded good to him – especially since it looked like he and Toshiro might not make it to either of their homes. If they were going to fuck in a car, it should be a confiscated sports car, right?

They left Rangiku and Gin in the lobby and Ichigo pulled Toshiro into the lift, their kiss only breaking so that he could press the button to take them down to the car park basement. Toshiro’s lips latched onto his neck as the doors closed and Ichigo groaned softly, his arms coming around the man’s waist and holding him close.

Yeah, he was falling in love with an Interpol agent.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I chose the name Johnny Morita for Ichigo for his two talented voice actors, Johnny Yong Bosch (English) and Masakazu Morita (Japanese).
> 
> Please kudos and comment if you get a chance!
> 
> Link to our deadly fun discord server, The Seireitei: https://discord.gg/Zh8N2Ra


End file.
